A Father's Love
by padfoot.028
Summary: It all started when I was a boy, just an innocent little boy that wanted to please my father. I wanted to make him proud. Was that so wrong?   "I'm sorry, Draco" came the last thing I heard before I was welcomed into the torture that awaited my life.


**A Father's Love**

"What? Wait! No! You can't be serious! I can't go to Azkaban!" My shaggy white blonde hair fell into my eyes as I tried to comprehend what was happening.

It all started when I was a boy, just an innocent little boy that wanted to please my father. I wanted to make him proud. Ever since that Christmas Day when I got my first broom and I saw the face that he made when he saw me climb right on and kick off. His proud face. And I was just a young boy, craving some attention and love from my father. Was that so wrong? And then things got worse. And I got mixed up in the wrong crowd. But I never went bad. No. I never killed anyone, not directly. I gave them some information. That is true. But I never wanted them to use it. I never wanted the bad side to win.

From then on, I always wished that I could make my father proud, every year at Christmas.

And this is just typical. He _would_ want me to make a fight about going to Azkaban. He _would_ want me to make it all spectacular, he would want me to use my wit, and keep my dignity. But I'm sorry, Father. I will not send myself to Azkaban, for your mistakes, to make you proud. I'm done doing the dirty work for you.

I flipped my hair out of my eyes. I stared at the face that was so familiar to me. Auror, saviour of the wizarding world, and muggle world as well, Harry Potter. He was standing right in front of me, standing right in the middle of my entrance hall in my manor. He was looking right back at me, but he seemed nervous, he seemed sorry. He looked upset. His bright green eyes held pity in them, and sorrow.

I inwardly scoffed. I still didn't like him much, even now.  
And it still wasn't a bright idea to go around with a less than pleasant opinion of him, as my father once said. It wouldn't do to raise people's suspicions, like they so obviously would.

A man in the front spoke up and I spun my head around to look at him, "I'm afraid we're very serious Mister Malfoy. You will be coming along with us, whether you like it or not, and you will be going to Azkaban. Consider it, an early Christmas present."

I stared at the man before me. He was tall and broad. He looked like he was in control, or wanted to be in any case. He looked downright mean and cold, a smirk playing on his lips at his little joke. He reminded me a bit of my father, to be honest.

I think it was then that everything sort of went out of focus. The multi-coloured Christmas lights that could be seen out of the open front door became multi-coloured dots in my vision, blending in with the mistletoe, the holly, the garlands, all of it becoming one huge blob in my vision, mixing with the marble of my entrance hall and the faces of the men stood before me. Just blended right in with my muddled and confused mind. A perfect match.

My thoughts were running jumbled in and out of my head. Trying to make sense of it, I suppose. I expected punishment. A fine, maybe some community service or something similar. Something that I could buy my way out of.

But Azkaban. I hadn't been very nice, no. I wasn't on Santa's nice list, but I wasn't on the most naughty list either, surely not. I didn't deserve this. I was put on the bad side, but that didn't mean that I wasn't rooting for the good side. I was. This was all a big mistake. It must be.

I was still standing in shock when I felt the cool metal around my wrists, tightening them behind my back. I watched, still dazed, as Harry Potter himself walked forward, and pushed an object into my hands. There was a tug at my navel, I was pulled forward, I was spinning, and then I felt myself drop. I fell onto an island. A bleak and horrible grey island. I felt Potter push me slightly towards the prison, a huge grey monstrosity itself, and I stumbled on the jagged rocks. I was still in shock, I was still in my daze as we navigated ourselves through the halls, past the cells that held prisoners crying out and screaming, past the dementors that were already looking greedily at the prospect of having new souls to feed on. I shuddered at the thought, remembering my third year at Hogwarts. Remembering walking past the monsters on my way to Hogsmeade for the first time. It dampened everyone's moods considerably, but it was nothing a butterbeer couldn't fix. Now I wouldn't have anything. Nothing to comfort me, to make the despair go away. I was alone.

We came to a stop in front of an empty cell, where Potter opened the door. He hesitated, and then leaned towards me. I heard a whisper in my ear.

"I'm sorry, Draco," came the last whisper that I heard before I was shoved into that grey and small cell in the prison. The last thing that I heard before I was welcomed into the greyness that awaited the rest of my life, only to be interrupted by the tortured screams and the horrible memories rolling around inside of my own head.

One last thought occurred to me at that moment, it played over and over in my head as I watched Potter lock the door to my cell and walk away, shoulders hunched from the cold. One last thing that would torture me almost as much as the dementors.

_Here's your last present from me, for making me proud all those years.  
A one-way trip to Azkaban.  
Merry Christmas, Draco._

_With Love,  
Father._


End file.
